


Capes and Other Ways to Exhaust Your Insomniac Troll Boyfriend

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bondage, But only a little, Dave is subbier than he expected, Dirty Talk, Edging, Hand Jobs, Horns, Karkat is a cape magnet, M/M, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10840788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dave takes advantage of how magnetic Karkat is to The Cape.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Liritar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liritar/gifts).



==> Be the cape magnet.  
Shut the FUCK up! It was that cape. It was _always_ that stupid fucking cape. Stupid fucking cape, and even stupider fucking Dave Strider. Of course he'd been the one to throw his cape at you and fucking abscond.

The two of you had been playing a game of tag, and as usual, Dave'd been banned from flashstepping in order to make things fair. And that was how you'd descovered that, despite his prowess at swordplay and anything involving speed, really, you were still marginally better than he was at absconding like your life depended on it. Which, of course, made sense, since your life had actually depended on your ability to abscond before.

So, of course, even without his flashstepping and timey wimey powers, Dave just had to find some way to circumvent the rules and get one up over you. You'd been gaining on him, but then he'd sort of slowed down, waited for you to tackle him, then thrown his cape at you and run off.

And that leaves you here, trying your damnedest to disentangle yourself with his cape, but the fabric was surprisingly tenacious. You can't comprehend it, honestly. It was just a single large rectangle of the softest fabric you'd ever felt, with a tight hood attached, so why the fuck are you completely and utterly unable to escape it?

In frustration, you grip the part over your face and dig your claws in, attempting to rip it. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and no matter how much you fucking loved the snuggleplane, sacrifices had to be made.

Before you could start ripping, though, a hand came down over yours and you jump. Nearly fucking scream, too, but you restrain yourself in time. It was just Dave. Only human skin was as soft as that, and there were familiar callouses that you'd felt many times before. You hear a soft chuckle and redirect your rage at him, grabbing his wrist hard, though not quite hard enough to injure him. "Remove your cape right this fucking instant or I remove it in pieces and scatter those pieces in places so strange it'll take you _sweeps_ to find them all."

The chuckles stop. "Ow, dude. Why you gotta be so cruel?" Dave whined, before papping in the general direction of your face with his other hand. Fucking...asshole. Trying to flip pale on you, huh? Well, you weren't going to be so easily distracted. 

You let out a growl and pointlessly snap your teeth together. The hand withdraws before poking you hard, in the side. Your grip on his wrist slackens enough for him to escape, and then it's so silent that for a moment you think he left again.

And then there's something warm pressing against the cape on the side of your nose. You jerk your head toward it, wondering what Dave is playing at, and the warmth shifts lower, to over your lips.

What. The. Fuck.

You're making out with the goddamn cape, and though you'd expect fuzz to get in your mouth, there is none. Goddamn perpetually clean and perfect godtier capes. Dave is skilled with his mouth, you know this for a fact, and he's making good use of this ability. Before you know it, there's a hand on your shoulder supporting you as Dave gently pushes you until you're lying flat on your back on the floor. He continues kissing you all the while, and fuck, you want to touch him. But you _can't_ , because your arms are still fucking tied up in the cape.

Lips leave, and fingers dart up your leg, warm, rucking up the fabric of your sweatpants. Your legs have never been a particularly sensitive part of you, but suddenly, perhaps because you're deprived of your vision, everything seems amplified. You're hyper-aware of the way his fingers are trailing upward, toward your

Okay, fuck no. You're not thinking about this. You're not going to let yourself get this excited over a bit of kissing and touching. You are _not_.

He kisses you again, and the fabric of the cape is getting damp between your mouths. You know you should think it's gross, but you don't. Dave seems to just be smearing his mouth along the fabric until suddenly he bites down on your lower lip. His blunt human teeth are further blunted by the cape, but the action still elicits an involuntary moan from you.

God _fucking_ dammit. 

As if spurred on by the noise you're making, Dave redirects his attention. You feel a weight settle over your hips, then he's grabbing your horns and rubbing them at the bases. It's too much and too little at the same time; the bases of your horns had always been rather sensitive, and the texture of the cape was fucking intense. Dave knew your weak spots, knew the optimal way to rub and squeeze at the bases to make you purr like a goddamn meowbeast. 

In a rush, your bulge unsheathes and you buck against him. He scoots back just a bit, still keeping you pinned but depriving you of any sort of pressure. You can _feel_ his hips stuttering against your leg, and it gives you a modicum of satisfaction to know that his control isn't quite ironclad. Your bulge writhes against the inside of your sweatpants, and, okay, that's not quite satisfying, but it's _something_ , at least. The fact that you're still tangled in Dave's cape is definitely doing things to you, you're surrounded in warm softness, and his scent. The friction of your bulge against the fabric of your pants feels more vivid than usual, not that you're admitting you often accidentally unsheathe or anything. That's wriggler bullshit and you'll have no part of it, of course.

One of his hands leaves your horns and cups your bulge before squeezing, and you cry out. You're going to come all over his cape and fuck, it'll serve that asshole right. He's squeezing and rubbing just the way you like it, and you're sure you're making all sorts of embarrassing sounds, but you're past caring. You're almost there, and you know he can feel the way your bulge is swelling as it does before climax through your soaked sweatpants. 

Surrounded in sensation, you're left completely unprepared for the stark lack of it just as you're nearly at your peak. His hands are gone, his weight is gone, and fuck, he's also yanked off your sweats so you're left writhing against absolutely nothing.

You scream in frustration and kick out.

A breathy laugh from behind your head. Oh, so that bastard is _amused_ by your suffering, huh? "If you're not going to finish what you started, quit just fucking standing there and staring at me!" 

Great. Now you can't even speak right; you've got the most annoying of kismesis-growls trying to overpower your words, but goddammit. You were _this close_ to not giving a fuck and just flipping yourself over and rutting against the floor. Future you could deal with the cleanup. But...not with Dave watching. You trusted him, but you still had your dignity to uphold.

"What color's the light?"

The question flies at you, seemingly from nowhere. It takes you a few moments to register what he means by it, and then yet another few moments to decide. You want to say yellow, because while the two of you are in a deserted part of the meteor, it's still a public hallway and you're uncomfortable being this vulnerable, but at the same time, you want to say green so you can see where he takes it.

"Green. But quit with the sensory deprivation shit." You don't voice it, but while it's exciting, it does make you uncomfortable when he suddenly stops touching you. Logically, you know that he wouldn't just abandon you, but, well, you're not quite thinking logically right now and the underlying worry isn't conducive to your arousal.

Immediately afterwards, he's pulling you up toward him, then guiding you to straddle his legs where he's sitting against what is presumably a wall. Your hips nudge forward, but he rests a hand on your thigh to prevent you from moving, as if reminding you that he was in charge here. His other hand is stroking reassuringly over your head, occasionally brushing against the side of your horn and eliciting the phantom of the rough stimulation from before. You want it again, fuck. At least in this position you can surreptitiously rub your nook against his thigh.

"This okay? Do you need to see too or something?"

The furious shaking of your head brings your horn hard against his hand, and you make another sound as your bulge squirms violently. Your hips cant forward of their own volition, and Dave finally relents, pulling your bodies together. You sort of just lean against him for a moment, grounding yourself, as the tip of your bulge worms its way under his shirt and into his belly button.

Dave fucking giggles, then worms a hand between you and himself to extract your bulge from where it'd been painting trails of slime along his abdomen. He's finally squeezing you the way you like it, and then he's shoving down his pants as well and guiding your bulges together.

You could never quite get over how different he was from a troll. Instinct made you want to tangle your bulge with your partner's until both trolls were fucking dripping, but his hard, solid warmth was just as appealing. Your bulge twines around his, squeezing, and he lets out this adorable whimper. Seems like you're not the only one worked up, but you don't voice it. At this point, you don't even trust yourself to vocalize English.

A jolt of sensation causes you to kind of thrash, and one of your horns knocks against the side of Dave's head. He grabs it and squeezes as his other hand trails down your back and to your ass.

And then lower. One finger in your nook and a strategic twist on the base of your horn finally tip you over. Your thighs clench tightly around him as your seedflap releases. He tries to stroke you through it, but the tip of your bulge pokes its way into the opening at the top of his bulge and he loses it too, accidentally jamming that finger farther up your nook right as you finally come.

~~~

You drift back to awareness after what seems to be an eternity of utter pleasure and exhaustion. Your eyes flutter open and you immediately notice two things: one, the cape seems to have cleaned itself of your genetic material, and is now just draped over your body, and two, you're not lying in the hallway any more. You're lying on Dave's sleeping platform and he's standing beside you in drenched jeans (why wasn't he in his godtier pajamas? Was he *trying* to get marked by you?), wiping your legs off.

Everything still feels fuzzy, so you pat the pillow next to you and hope he gets the message to join you. You're spent after whatever the fuck he just pulled, and now you just want to cuddle. He leans over and kisses you softly, before captchaloguing his clothes and joining you, rearranging your position so he can assume the role of the big rounded eating utensil.

You grab one of his hands and pull it up to press a soft kiss to it before settling it firmly around your chest. What just happened can be discussed tomorrow; for now, you just want to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They talk

Talk tomorrow, indeed. You don't know how long it's been when you finally awaken, still tangled up with Dave. It's definitely been long enough for your body to feel heavy with oversleep and not tiredness, though.

You stifle a yawn and shift in his arms, trying not to wake him when you move.It's pointless, though; as soon as you move, the fingers in your hair withdraw and Dave pulls back just a bit to look into your face.

"Hey. Mornin' to sleeping dorky", he greets, voice raspy. It's stupidly attractive. You crack a soft grin and poke him in the nose.

"Is it even morning?"

"I 'unno."

Insufferable. 

"You're the one with time powers, fuckhead. Actually no,scratch that, clockhead, since you have a fucking watch shoved up your thinkpan. How do you _not_ know what the time is?"

"Nah, man. I know what the time is, you just didn't ask me for the time, you asked if it was morning. And what even does morning mean anyways?"

You groan and slam your face against his chest. 

"I just got up and now it's time for Strider's daily routine of pseudo-philosophical discussions? Ughhhh." Your voice is muffled by his shirt, but you think he gets your fondly exasperated message just fine.

"Fiiiiiine, anyways, since you don't want to delve deep into the layers of irony. Um. Yesterday."

he doesn't elaborate. The two of you stare at each other, slowly reddening.

"Yeah. Yesterday", you wheeze out, before frowning, sitting up, and rooting around under the bed.

Water bottle located, you take a swig before tossing it at Dave. Morning breath after a good dicking down was never conducive to a conversation. Besides, it was a nice distraction, especially because he fumbles when you toss the bottle at him.

"It was...intense. I liked it" you admit just as he drinks. He nearly does a spittake, and you repress the urge to laugh, instead forging on. "Might do with a warning next time, and Dave? Keep it in our blocks."

He seems to have calmed down and is processing your words, so you give him a moment, although you _do_ resettle yourself so you're closer to him. 

"That's uh, good. So that bit, y'know. That bit where you seemed like you were about to cry, that was just me being really fucking amazing at edging?"

You want to tackle him for that, and thus end the conversation, but he's being unusually earnest. Okay. 

"Yes and no. That was globeshatteringly intense, and I won't deny it, but what really got me was, I guess, a combination of frustration and", you pause, "fear that you'd leave me there, in the hall, like that? I mean, I know it's really fucking dumb of me to think that since you're not going to leave me, but it's just a thing that... Look. It's in the past. New question. What even gave you _that_ idea?"

He wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close. "No, dude? You're worried I'd leave you? There's just. No way, Karkat. You're the doritos to my mountain dew, the punchline to my joke, the capslock to my ironic lowercase, the-"

It's endearing, but headache-inducing, so you kiss him to shut him up. He makes a startled sound, then reciprocates. You pull away a moment later.

"So what the fuck gave you that idea, even? It's a cape, Dave, not a fucking sex toy. How did you even make the connection from 'article of clothing' to 'bondage material'??"

A slow smile spreads across his face, as if the thought of answering the question was honestly too good for his deadpan, before he blushes brightly.

"So?"

"Well I wasn't gonna, but like. You looked so damn enticing just wrapped up in my cape, all disheveled from running around, and I could just kinda imagine your face under the cape, flushed and frustrated like you get during your rants. And then, and then it just sort of escalated because you kept making those _sounds_!"

Your face grows warm. While it's embarrassing to hear Dave detail this to you, you recognize this trope; you've seen it often enough in your romcoms.

"You like seeing me in your cape? Guess the romcoms were accurate about that particular human preference, don't you fucking deny it."

"U-um!"

Heh. Let no one ever usurp your position as the ultimate master of romance and, dare you say it, seduction. Dave may have (literally) pulled one over you yesterday, but you're not letting the score be tilted in his favor for long. You extricate yourself from beneath his arm and straddle his lap, nearly leering at him as you tangle your fingers in the hair on either side of his head.

"Are you imagining me in _nothing_ but your cape, kissing the last remnants of coherent thought out of you? Marking up your pale as fuck skin until, despite that it's me in your clothes, it's you that's mine? What about me leaning down and whispering to you, begging you to fuck me already, _Dave_?"

You let your voice deepen and rumble, and your last words bring a startled exhale that trails off into a moan from him. Satisfied, you back away and take in the sight before you. His face is flushed, his breathing is uneven, and his hair is sticking up from you pulling at it. And, oh. Ha. His pants are already tenting again.

"I'm sure you'd like that. But anyways, breakfast?" A quick decaptchalogue of a spare set of clothes later and you're more put together than Dave, who's still red-faced and presumably turned on as fuck.

It's with a self-satisfied grin that you saunter out of his block.

**Author's Note:**

> Sprint writing is the best?


End file.
